Blood Brothers
by A Ghost Who Walks
Summary: After an unfortunate event featuring those cursed elves, Brom and Morzan share a bit of quality time.


**I swear, this IS my last fic without a beta. Really truly. Honestly. But this was calling to me with the irresistible call of…oh, never mind. But in your reviews (which you will give, RIGHT?) Please give me a step-by-step guide to getting a beta. It would be very much appreciated. Now, on with the show!**

"No, ya idiot. Hold 't _this_ way, not _that _way!"

Morzan was no teacher.

Obviously.

Brom was no student.

At least according to Morzan.

Their last "training" session had ended with Brom clutching a broken arm and whimpering, and Morzan yelping from the smack their Ebrithil had given him with the flat of his blade.

Morzan was always a bit too aggressive.

Theoretically, hardship was supposed to draw two parties together. That was generally the case, unless, of course, those two parties were Morzan and Brom.

Then the hardship would lead to an argument, and then, greater hardship. (Usually for Brom.)

(Wuss!)

(I-I'm no wuss!)

(Yeah, well prove 't.)

(How?)

(Go inta tha' clearing.)

(How's that-okay, I'll do it.)

Morzan had failed to mention that the elven maidens were bathing in the rocky pool in aforementioned clearing.

That was the one time he had seen Ebrithil speechless from laughter.

And that had brought them to where they were now.

After regaining his faculties of speech, Ebrithil had sentenced them to the practice fields.

For eight hours.

With each other, _and _the rather irate male relatives of the elven maidens.

Ouch.

And Morzan had had to listen to Frihet snickering in the confines of his head the whole time.

It sounded _wrong _to hear a dragon snickering like a lad in a tavern while a particularly bawdy tale was being told.

Very wrong.

_It's beautiful weather up here, rash one._

_Shut up._

_The sun is shining, the updrafts are perfect-_

_Shut up._

Another mental snicker.

Morzan rolled his eyes. He glared at Brom. "Have ya caught yer breath yet?"

The younger boy panted. "Y-Yeah," he gasped.

Morzan snorted.

Brom scowled at him. "I-I have."

Morzan didn't even deign to honor that with a reply.

"Would you stop that?"

"What?"

"Acting like I'm not even worthy of your attention!"

"Well, th' truth be hurtin' sometimes."

Brom's hands balled into fists.

Morzan suppressed a chuckle. He had grown up on the streets. This merchant's boy from Kuasta didn't scare him.

"Don't make me hurt you."

This time, Morzan didn't even bother to hide his amusement.

It was a mistake.

Brom growled like an angered Shrrg, and then _sprung_.

The last thing Morzan had time to think was, _Gods, that boy is fast._

Then Brom was rubbing his face into the dirt.

After expressing appropriate shock through the use of some quite…_colorful _exclamations he had learned on the streets, Morzan fought back.

But Brom was stronger than he had been expecting.

Soon he was sporting a nice bloody nose.

Brom had a simply lovely blackened eye.

After rolling about on the hard-packed soil of the sparring field for a few minutes, they sank limply to the ground, panting.

There was a small crowd of open-mouthed elven children watching in fascination.

Morzan looked at Brom appreciatively.

"Nice jump."

Brom nodded wearily. "My older brother taught me."

"I might likin' t' meet 'im someday, then."

"He's dead."

"Oh."

"It was a bandit. That was when I first wanted to be a Rider. So I could stop other Broms from losing their Lann."

"I be sorry."

Brom shrugged. "It was a long time ago."

"I wanted t' be a Rider after m' uncle Torling was hauled 'way for stealin' bread for 'is baby."

Brom nodded, then extended his hand. "Shake on it, then?"

Morzan shook it.

Brom gave him an appraising look.

Morzan returned it. "What?"

"In Kuasta…"

"In Kuasta…?" Morzan prompted.

"In Kuasta, we had a custom."

"Oh gods, not '_gain._"

"No, really. If two boys wanted to be like brothers forever, they cut their fingers and mixed their blood."

"And so…?"

"Do you want to do that with me?"

Morzan studied him. He appeared serious. Oh, what the Helgrind. May as well give the kid a thrill. "Sure."

Brom hesitated.

"Well?" asked Morzan, impatient.

"I was thinking…"

"Gods, no."

"Can we just use your blood?"

**There you have it, kids. Young Morzan and Brom. Frihet is Morzan's dragon. It means **_**freedom **_**in Norse, so I thought it suitably ironic that the one who would help usher in slavery would have a dragon named Freedom. **

**I would like to thank:**

**RESTRAINED FREEDOM**

**ExA-MAZING**

**THELUNYONE**

**THE-ERINACEOUS-NIHILARIANS**

**AND COULDBE FOR REVIEWING. AND RESRAINED FREEDOM AND THELUNYONE FOR REVIEWING **_**REJECTION.**_**R&R, PLEASE****.**** AND THE POLL'S STILL OPEN!**


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